


Whatever keeps you warm at night

by Trojie



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn, Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob is always happy to give One Two what he needs, even when he can't ask for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever keeps you warm at night

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this enormous rambling discussion on Twitter at one point between me, Five_ht, Anatsuno, Withlightning, Photoclerk and Neomeruru, about how Bob is the best and most caring top ever, and how he looks after One Two and gives him what he needs even when One Two is too closeted and shamed and repressed-manly to ask for it or even necessarily show that he likes it. And of that discussion this fic was born, and is dedicated to its five Twitter godmothers, all of whom contributed words and imagery to it. Also much thanks goes to Anatsuno who beta-read it for me <3

It isn't that Bob is out, exactly. In fact Bob is not out. Being out is like painting a great big fucking target on your face and telling the world, 'c'mon if you think you're hard enough.' But at least Bob _knows_. At least Bob is honest with _himself_.

One Two is not out. Not even as out as Bob is, where his friends know and don't say a word, and everyone keeps pretending he fucks girls. One Two barely seems to know. And One Two is not honest with himself.

Bob is okay with that, because Bob knows how hard it is. And Bob is okay with that because when One Two can't deny himself any longer, he doesn't go hunting for a stranger to take it out on, and he doesn't ignore it, and he doesn't get stupid – he comes to Bob. He's not nice about it – he sometimes says things that hurt, things that are _meant_ to hurt, because (and Bob knows this) he still blames Bob for how he feels, as if shooting the messenger will take away the need.

And it is need. Bob knows that. One Two needs him to do what he does. Whether or not One Two loves Bob, and that matter's up for debate although Bob has a fair clue, One Two needs this. This is what he wants when he comes round to Bob's flat late at night and can't say why, exactly, just sits on the couch with a cup of tea, saying nothing but fucking bullshit small talk because he can't fucking ask.

Bob waits until he's halfway through the tea before taking it out of his hands, uncurling his fingers gently and lifting the cup away. He gets up to put it away properly because the last thing he needs is broken crockery all over the place.

One Two hasn't moved, when he gets back: just keeps staring at his hands. But when Bob sits down next to him he twists away.

'Don't fuckin' touch me,' he says in a low and dangerous voice.

'Fine,' Bob says. 'Then d'you wanna tell me why you're here?'

'Can't I just come round and see you, now?'

'Course you can. But it's late, mate. I was about to go to bed.'

'Not stoppin' you.'

One Two wants Bob to take this away from him. Bob wants One Two to ask for it. Everyone wants, what do they call it? Plausible deniability, that's the thing. Thanks Bertie. Yeah. Plausible. 'You gonna come with me then?'

One Two doesn't say anything to that. Going to and wanting to are different things. Bob hasn't actually had One Two in his bed yet. He's had One Two all over this damn flat, but never in his bed. Normally by this point One Two's thrown a punch and Bob's had to grab him and gentle him the only way he can, which is to take all his fucking stupid choices away so that there's only one thing he can do, which is _have what he wants_ , what Bob wants to give him. But tonight he's all still and quiet. Something's different.

Bob lays a hand, soft, on One Two's collar. 'Gonna take you to bed, One Two,' he says. 'If you want to leave, you leave. But if you sit there, I'm gonna take you to bed.'

'You're an arrogant son of a bitch,' One Two mutters. 'You already know I'm not gonna leave.' But his neck moves just a little bit, like he wants to maybe curve against Bob's hand, so Bob slides his fingers under the collar and strokes.

He doesn't get a proper reaction – he never does at this stage, or he does, but it hurts. So he knows he's okay to keep going, to run his fingers around, to start on the buttons, to push One Two back against the couch and turn further in to him. What he'd like to do is straddle his lap and work his way down the buttons properly, like a lap-dance gone off the rails, and watch One Two's face while he does. But that's too far too fast right now. So Bob eases buttons free and slides his hand down skin with each one, a fingertip brushing a nipple, One Two freezing still as it does so, until he has the whole shirt free and open and his hand on the button of One Two's jeans. One Two's hand moves lightning-fast to grab his fingers and stop him going any further.

'Bed?' Bob asks, instead of reacting to that, and twists his hand so that he's holding One Two's fingers like he's going to kiss his knuckles. One Two lets him. He looks pissed, angry, uncomfortable, but he's got that other look under it, the one that says he's pissed, angry, uncomfortable with himself, not with Bob. So Bob gets to his feet and pulls One Two up as well, and if maybe his hand curves round One Two's neat, narrow waist like he would if they were dancing, it's not his fault. He has things he wants too.

He tugs One Two through to the bedroom, and he's prepared for the tiny halt in his pace. But fuck it, Bob is sick of giving him second chances. He came here. He knows what he's in for. He can fucking leave if he wants to – Bob isn't gonna stop him. If he's going to assume Bob'll take care of him, then Bob's going to take care of him.

So he picks up One Two's hand again, laces their fingers firmly, and walks him through the door. It feels like a thing, y'know. It shouldn't. But it does. One Two's fingers clench just a bit before Bob pushes him down to sit on the mattress, but he lets him. It's a timing thing. You gotta have the right timing, with One Two. Bob is good at timing, isn't he. Getaway driver – always knows the moment. When to brake, when to step on the gas, when to dawdle, when to drive like stink. Bob knows. And One Two is all curves and corners, and Bob'll learn 'em. Learn his routes.

He catches the waistband of One Two's jeans, undoes the buttons. 'Lift up,' he murmurs, dropping his voice low like he knows blokes like it. One Two does. Does lift up, that is. Bob doesn't really know if the low voice is something he likes – just does it just in case, and it works. Bob drags One Two's jeans down. And then One Two's in the nick on Bob's bed, and Bob just has to take a moment to appreciate that while he gets his own kit off.

One Two needs instructions. Bob found that out early on in this clusterfuck they have going on. One Two won't take initiative in case that somehow makes him gayer, or something. But he _likes_ instructions, as well. Likes Bob's voice in his ear. So Bob tucks close, soothes him with his hands all smooth and slow and gets him to lie down, roll over. Tells him how good he is, cos he likes that too for all he won't show it. Just cos you can't see something dun't mean it isn't there.

'There you go,' Bob murmurs, feels the purr of it in his throat, sliding his hand down from One Two's shoulder, where he's been supporting him, to his cock, where One Two wants him but _won't fucking say so_. 'There y'are, babe –' and One Two jerks in his hands, and Bob realises what he's said, and nearly bites through his own lip in the sudden rush of blood that comes with that. 'C'mon babe,' he says again, 'C'mon, you're all right, you're doing good -'

'Fuck off,' says One Two, making an experimental move, and Bob grabs him and pushes him down a bit, because he felt the way One Two pulsed in his fingers at 'babe', and he feels now the way One Two's breathing speeds up, and so maybe pushing this is the right way.

'Nah, fuck it, you like it,' Bob says. 'You like it, and I like it. Be good for me,' he urges, nudging One Two's thighs apart with one of his own, and he half-twists to get to the bedside drawer behind him for lube, because he's going to need a lot of it. Lube, and patience. 'Gonna touch you now, you know how. Done it to you before, haven't I.'

He has done it before, he's done it before plenty, but One Two still freezes when Bob's slick fingers touch him, every damn time. Bob drags the pad of his finger softly over the tight place he wants into, and One Two shudders. Bob does it again, and again, and says, 'You gonna tell me what you want yet?'

And One Two pants, open-mouthed, like he wants to say something but can't, so Bob pushes his finger a little into the give, just a dip because he knows how that feels, done it to himself, hasn't he, just testing. One Two tilts back against him, and Bob grins against the dry curve of One Two's shoulder. He loves the texture of One Two's skin, loves getting it to break into wetness. It's not there yet, but it will be.

He wonders, a little abruptly, if maybe he could tie One Two up, if he'd be allowed, if it would make One Two snap a little faster, if it could become a habit like One Two coming to him has got to be a habit, like One Two not making Bob fight him for this is slowly becoming a habit - like maybe One Two actually _asking_ feels sometimes like it might become a habit.

One Two lets out a sharp breath as Bob touches just a little firmer, and that's almost sound. And Bob pushes in a little deeper, and there's a tiny noise.

'What was that?' Bob asks, not to be cruel, but because he so badly wants One Two to be able to say this. But it's One Two's body that tells the truth, not his mouth, which lies. One Two's body wants to take, and it opens up under Bob's fingers, and One Two's mouth opens as well to breathe, and somewhere under the rasp of his lungs is a tiny little 'please.'

A smooth stroke in and out, just one finger still, and then in again, and crooked and hooked to touch, and the 'please' is louder under the cloak of a moan, so One Two gets two fingers for good behaviour, and Bob can't help but tell him so.

His reaction to being told he's good is to freeze and gasp. Bob coaxes his fingers deeper, says, 'Open up for me babe, c'mon, I've got you,' and One Two shudders below him and spreads his legs and _there we go_.

' _Please_ ,' he whispers, and Bob has to kiss him for that, below his ear just where he can reach. 'I'm fucking asking you, Bob, just do it,' One Two says while Bob is makin' love to every bit of skin within range of his mouth, while he uses his fingers that bit deeper and harder because now One Two is talking, he can have that.

'Can you take another?' Bob asks, dragging his teeth over One Two's earlobe.

'I -' says One Two, tensing again, 'Bob -'

'It's okay,' Bob says, slowing everything down again, but not stopping. 'It's okay to ask, mate, it's okay, I just want you to feel good, yeah?'

'Then stop fuckin' _asking_ me,' One Two snaps, driving himself back brutally against Bob and Bob's hand. 'Stop assuming I have any fuckin' idea what I'm doing, alright Bob?' He's grinding back now, throwing himself into it. Snaps is a good word. Snapped. There's always a moment when One Two snaps, is the thing. Bob has to still him hard with his free hand to get his fingers out, because now One Two needs it, and knows it.

And Bob is going to give it to him.

Getting One Two up on his hands and knees is easy now - he goes with a little slap from Bob and a little grunt of his own, and he goes into it good and proper with his head sunk low and his arse up high. Bob's mouth fucking waters at the sight. He takes One Two's hands, though, and moves them to be on the bedstead.

'You're gonna want a bit of leverage,' he tells One Two, and he takes so much fucking pleasure out of the way One Two's eyes flutter closed. So much. Bob has to keep himself from scrambling round and shoving in, because force is fine but you still gotta take some care with One Two. He knee-walks to behind and takes in the view, and uses his hands to spread One Two's arse open wide.

He's streaked and shining with lube, and Bob so badly wants to lean in and lick, mostly because he wants to see how One Two takes it. He bites instead, bites gentle but sharp, feeling One Two startle under him from it, and then slides his fingers home again, two of them. They go easy, so he adds another.

A desperate sound is yanked out of One Two from that, and he doesn't let go of the bedstead but he does shove back again, dipping his back like the arch of a bridge reflected in the water, his head hitting the pillow, and that's enough for Bob, so he grabs a condom and rolls it on, slicks himself good and thorough, and has to grab himself a little hard when he remembers what he's doing and it shakes him to the core.

One Two's always so tight, hasn't learnt to relax yet until Bob's pounded him into it. Bob takes it careful but firm. Can't give One Two a second to think about it or he'll clench harder before he realises what he's doing. So in has to mean _in_ , slow and sure and steady.

One Two moans when Bob's in, a breathless noise, rolls with Bob through every shift of balance he makes trying to steady himself, and buries his face in the crook of his elbow. He's shaking.

'You like that?' Bob asks, trying to stop his own eyes from rolling back in his head.

One Two twists and almost snarls, and says 'Bob, fuck -' and chokes on it, and it makes Bob wild that he _still won't say anything_ \- he pulls out and pushes back in. One Two meets him there just as hard, so he pulls out again and _slams_ back in, and the bed shakes, and One Two takes it and spreads his legs further and keeps meeting him, every time he thrusts.

'See,' Bob says, breathless. 'See how much you want it? I know you do, I know you want it, mate, and I want you to have it, I'm gonna give you this, I swear. I swear, babe, however much you want it, you just have to come to me, I want it too, and you can have it, you can -'

One Two has sunk his face so deep into the curve of his elbow and the pillows that Bob can only just hear the sobbing and whining of his breath and the way he's saying 'fuck' and 'please' all tangled up like they mean the same thing.

He wants to pull out and turn One Two over, and have him where he can see him. He wants to slow down and soften this out.

Instead, he lets himself cover One Two so he can talk to him all personal, like it's not for show, like he means it. He's not tall enough to be able to whisper in One Two's ear from this angle, but he can get close, and he's caught deep like this, so all he has to do is keep his hips moving like the tide to keep it going.

'I know you don't want to want this,' he says, and he knows just saying this is more of a push than three fingers, but he feels like he has to say it. 'I know you don't, I know you hate wanting this, I'm sorry I have to show you like this. I'm sorry, One Two. But I'm gonna take care of you, I promise.'

The 'please's have gone now, all locked up tight, and all One Two can do is say, shakily, 'Fuck, fuck, oh fuck -' and he's tightening under Bob, the rhythm gone to his head.

Bob feels it the second One Two starts to come, and it startles a moan out of him, takes his breath away, and his own orgasm rides on it. He rolls away almost immediately, as soon as he comes back down, because he doesn't want One Two to feel trapped here. He knows running away is the next step. He knows. It's okay. He understands. One Two has to do what he needs to.

He wakes up in the morning, and One Two is still there, twisted up into a tight, still shape on the other side of the bed ... like, maybe, the things you need can change.


End file.
